


Isimun Nalim

by DietBiohazard



Category: The Hobbit, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: After death, Character Death, Ghosts, M/M, Poltergeists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DietBiohazard/pseuds/DietBiohazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo would give anything to bring Kili back to life. Anything. <br/>Even if it called for his own death. <br/>What he didn't expect, was to be inadvertently tied to the young prince....and as a ghost, of all things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghunum Khayam

As a Hobbit, Bilbo could count on a single hand the times he was in considerable amount of pain, and most of them the memory was too fuzzy to accurately depict how true the pain was. He’d heard stories from his mother of his rather unorthodox childhood, stories of broken arms and swollen bee-stings. At that time, when he was no more than a youngling, that pain may have been extreme. As he grew older, he felt that pain was not his favorite thing to experience, so it didn’t happen too often. He didn’t get himself into experiences that would cause a lot of pain, so it truly was the last thing on his mind when he ran out his house that morning. 

All things considered, he _was_ traveling with a group of thirteen dwarves and a wizard. They slowly grew to be his greatest friends, so they took a personal measure to make sure he would never be in pain.

But right now, he had nary a friend in the world, and no one to protect him against the surges of pain wracking his body. 

“A few cracked ribs, broken arm, he suffered a massive hit to the head...” The words were rattled to him, but for the life of him he couldn’t put them together. All he could see was the figure lying prone on the bed before him, a figure so pale, pale as death. 

“Please.” Bilbo huffed, trying to form the right words although his chest was making it nearly impossible, “Please don’t. Just...tell me. Is he....?”

“He will not make it through the night.” 

Bilbo winced at the strangled cry that came swiftly after the healer’s admission, but it wasn’t from himself. 

Kili was dying. The once youthful face was pale and sullen, blood plastering his bangs to his forehead. His breathing would stutter every so often, only to slowly return. Every time his breathing lessened, Bilbo’s chest would hurt so much more.

 Almost as much as it hurt him to see Kili, it equally hurt him to see Fili. The blonde was just as pale, just as sullen, just as lifeless. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoke, hadn’t even looked up from Kili. The blood from the battle the day before was still crusted on his skin, his wounds had been looked at, but he hadn’t moved to let the healers get a better look. 

He wasn’t going to make it, either. 

Bilbo huffed, each breath in his chest a trying effort. Everything hurt, down to his soul. This shouldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be happening. Kili needed to be smiling, beaming, shouting to the world. 

With a cynical thought, Bilbo found he would have given anything just for Kili to call him ‘Mr. Boggins’ again. 

The Battle of The Five armies had been unlike anything Bilbo had ever dreamed to experience, not in his worst nightmares. Bodies strewn around him like bags of sand, blood covering nearly every inch of the ground and rock. Arms, legs, innards, faces...they were twisted and churned to create a mass of red and purple, a darkness in the ground that would stain your legs and hands. 

Bilbo had waded through the carnage for what seemed like hours, but he knew it couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes. He pushed past the bodies of fallen Dwarves and men, the smell becoming numb to him as he desperately tried to push forward. Every once in a while a surge of enemies would swarm around him like a tidal wave, and he fought. 

Like a creation of the darkness, he fought. Sting was bloodied at his side, dark with orc blood, light with splatters of his allies’. He surged forward, stumbling and gasping with every new injury. He felt less and less with every stab, every sting, every attack on himself. The world grew hazier, but still, in the distance, he could see them. 

The Durin’s, the proud leaders of the Dwarves, standing tall atop a mountain. They were back to back, together even till the end, their blades glinting and clashing as they battled on. They fought with their whole souls, their entire beings invested into the fight for their homeland. 

He got there just in time to see the glint of the blade as it passed through Kili’s stomach. To see the large cudgel as it slammed against the brunette’s head. To see the now limp body of the youngest Durin fall and join the masses of the dead.

To hear the scream of his brother. 

“Bilbo.” 

He jumped only slightly, his eyes rimmed with tears that he didn’t know he was shedding. He barely had the power to look up, to see those dark clothes stained darker with blood. He’d recognize that voice anywhere, that regal appearance, and it only made him cry harder. 

Thorin offered no comfort as he stared down at the Hobbit, his eyes slowly shifting over to his youngest heir. 

“He should not be here.” Thorin’s voice rolled over Bilbo like a wave of death, the same voice that had screamed at his betrayal. Thorin thought nothing of him anymore, and that thought alone sent the tears cascading down Bilbo’s cheeks. The words still stung in his heart, pounding against his chest like a hammer. 

Thorin growled, his breath coming out in anguished puffs of air, “He should not be dying. I am the one that should die. He...” 

They were never to see that smile, that jubilant laughter. Fili would lose his other half, lose part of his soul with his brother’s passing. He, too, would never find the will to smile again, not without the other to smile with him. There would be no more laughter. He could still remember the way the brothers would trap him in the middle when they spoke to him, keeping him close. They’d tell him stories, joke with him about his hair, offer to braid it for him. 

He’d never see their smiles again. 

When Kili’s chest stuttered to a stop, pausing, to never start again, Fili broke. He lurched forward and scrambled to gather his brother in his arms, his voice breaking from his screams. He sang a broken and desperate song, holding Kili’s head against his chest, pushing his hands through his brother’s hair. 

“Kili, you need to wake up and sing the rest with me.” Fili whimpered, hunching over his brother, rocking the still form back and forth, singing a few more words of the song before choking on his own tears, “You need to sing the rest. You always sing this part.” 

And Fili screamed. It was a sound of such torment, of such agony. He was broken. 

Thorin was gone when Bilbo looked up, but he couldn’t see much of anything anymore. Broken fragments of sounds outside reached his ears, but they were hazy and didn’t make sense. His chest was in the worst agony of his life, constricting like a snake around his heart and lungs. He felt as if the world had been shrouded in darkness, in a blanket of despair that he would never  find the edge of. 

_I would give anything to fix this broken home._

_I would give anything._

_Anything._

Bilbo felt something tug at his heart, a searing burning pain like a furnace. It was almost like a question, that burning. A burning then release, almost as if asking. It returned for another split second, before whisking away like the wind. 

For reasons unknown even to him, a hope curled in his stomach. 

_I_ would _give anything._

The burning returned for another, longer time. Burning for a few seconds then releasing. 

It wanted to make sure. 

_I would give my life for Kili’s. I have nothing left to live for. I am a betrayer and outcast of Erebor, I no longer belong in the Shire, I have no home. I have no family._

In one more desperate attempt to get him to reconsider, the burn extended for what seemed like hours, burning deep into his soul, before leaving him. It didn’t feel malicious, the fire. It burned at his heart, but left a warm feeling in him, something familiar. 

_Take my life and give it to him._

The last thing Bilbo heard before he blacked out was a strangled gasp for air. 

XXXXXXXX

 

 

Thorin heard the gasp from where he stood outside the tent, his shoulders taught with tension and anguish. The air was cold with death, nary a sound breaking the silence that followed a war. There were no songs, no rejoicing, no cheers of victory. They had won the battle, but had lost too much to call it a victory. Blood would stain the land at the memory of a fallen prince, stained with how many had been lost. A heir of Erebor was lost to the hands of death, there would be no rejoicing this day. 

White tents, lopsided and awkward with the haste it had taken to put them up, stood in the hundreds. Many dwarves swept in and out of them, trying as hard as they could to heal the hundreds of dying, suffering men, dwarves, and elves. There was no discrimination in the healing tents, all those that had fought for Erebor were being healed with the most of their power. 

The world was bleak, but it was like a burst of clear adrenaline through his system when he heard that gasp. He was back in the tent in a matter of seconds, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. 

He couldn’t even fully comprehend what he was seeing, for pure relief shook his system to the core. 

Kili. 

Gasping for breath, Kili coughed deep in his chest, his eyes wide as he fought against every urge to pass out. His body was wracked with tremors, face as pale and ashen as the storm clouds hovering over their heads. His grip was tight on his brother, his hands fisted in Fili’s shirt. He repeatedly had to remind himself to breathe, his lungs shaky as he tried to register just _where_ he was and _what_ had happened. 

“Oh, oh _Aüle_.” Fili couldn’t hold back his surge of tears, his eyes wide and disbelieving as he stared down at his brother, his hands just as tight and his face just as ashen, “Oh, my Kili...” 

“Fili....” Glancing up at his brother with wide, almost childlike eyes, Kili couldn’t hold back the sudden surge of tears to his eyes, his chest stuttering painfully, “Fili....am I alive?” 

_“Kili!”_ The blonde surged forward again, holding Kili tighter than ever before, his arms almost in pain from how hard his hold was, his fingers frantically scrabbling to hold Kili against his chest, “You’re alive...you’re alive... _you’re alive....”_

The tears finally escaped the brunette, his arms too going around his brother and clutching tightly, his face pressing into the blonde’s neck. They were both shaking, tremulously breathing in unison, almost as if they let go of each other, they’d fade and disappear. 

Thorin finally managed to stumble his way to the bed, slumping down next to the brothers and wrapping his large arms around both of them. He could feel their shaking, their hesitant breaths and their tearful gasps. He, too, was close to losing control, at the very fact that Kili was living. He was alive and breathing, and warm against them as he held his nephews tightly. 

He finally snapped back to reality when he heard the soft murmur. It was nothing more than a whisper, at first, but it was coming from his youngest nephew. Both he and Fili immediately snapped to his aid, looking down at him with rapt attention. Kili looked a mess, shaking, eyes reddened and his cheeks stained with tears, but his cheeks were glowing with pink that made Thorin want to kiss them. 

Kili tried again, gulping heavily and closing his eyes for a long moment, trying desperately to gather himself. He looked them both deeply in the eyes when he finally managed to open them again, “Where....Where is Bilbo?” 

Time slowed, and all three turned to look towards the corner of the tent where the halfling was previously resting. They all expected him to be sitting there, calmly on his knees, ready to join their wash of relief. 

His body was crumpled to the side, lying lifelessly on the cold dirt. Pale, lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling of the tent, the once beautiful blue eyes were an eerie slate gray. His cheeks were almost as pale as his eyes, sunken and unnatural, with no more blood running through them. His chest no longer rose or fell with breath. 

“Bilbo!” Kili screamed, shocking the other two, who had yet to grasp that their little halfling was... Bilbo was...

Thorin still couldn’t even understand. 

“He was there!” Kili screamed, wrenching around to try and break from Fili’s grasp, though he had no energy to do so, “He was there with me! I was in the darkness...” He took a withering gasp, reaching out towards Bilbo despairingly, “I was surrounded by death, I knew I was going to be taken to be with the great ones. But I heard...” 

He cried out again, trashing as if he could reach the Hobbit, “I heard Bilbo’s voice...He was there! He gave his life to save mine!” 

Thorin slowly stood from his perch on the bed, his arms sliding from around the boys to rest by his side. He had to force himself to take each step towards the halfling, war-ravaged mind still reeling at the sight in front of him. No...Bilbo had been _alive._ He had been _fine._ He had been sitting there, still, but _breathing._

Kili was alive, everything should have been happy and joyous, but now as he stood in front of Bilbo, his heart truly broke. 

His purely anguished cry could be heard through the camp, in the ground it reverberated, and through the trees it sifted. Thorin fell to his knees, his shoulders heaving as he fought to breathe, his hands shaking as he gathered the small being into his arms. Bilbo weighed close to nothing, and Thorin merely hunched forward more when the small body failed to react to his hold. The skin was icy cold under his hands, even as he ran his hand over Bilbo’s cheek and gingerly tucked his head under Thorin’s chin. 

The thought of almost losing his youngest nephew, and now seeing that their precious little burglar had laid dead, for who knows how long...?

_“But you don’t have one, a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.”_

The memories assaulted Thorin like a unending surge. Remembering the Hobbit’s nervous actions, his jittering hands, his nervous smile. He could still remember how Bilbo would smile softly at their conversations, his eyes glittering in the firelight. 

_“I’ve never been good with people, Master Thorin. I like my books and my garden. But, I can say with full honesty, that I look forward to getting to know you.”_

What tore at Thorin most of all, what made Thorin’s heart want to stop in his chest, what made him scream all the more, was his last words to Bilbo. Bilbo had slipped into death fully believing that Thorin hated him, that he was banished from Erebor and from Thorin, that he was no longer welcome. He had died thinking all his friends were against him. 

He had died completely alone. Alone and scared. 

_“Thorin? I just....I just wanted to say, that you and your company...you’re the best friends I’ve ever had. This has been the best few months of my life. If everything ends after this day, I would like you to know this.”_

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

 

 

There were stories, Bilbo remembered, that told of the place you went on the brink of life and death. Humans called it ‘purgatory’,  and in the common tongue of the Dwarves, it was called ‘Isimun Nalim’, or the Everlasting Travel. Hobbits didn’t have a word for it, for they tried to think as little of death as possible; Elves had a few words associated to it, but Elves seldom thought of death, as it was something they rarely experienced. 

He didn’t really think that such a place could exist, a place after death before you were taken to the great ones. Bilbo had always assumed that the great ones knew exactly the plans for their creations lives’, so there was no need for such a place, no need for a questioning place where your fate had been undecided. 

But yet - here he was. 

It was much like wearing his ring, a stuffy and grayed-out version of real life. He couldn’t hear much of anything and couldn’t make out any definite shapes in his surroundings, but he knew that he was _somewhere._ There was what looked like a bed on the far side of the room, a table in the middle, a chair and a desk, some odds and ends that made it personal. Personal enough to the point he knew it wasn’t _his_ room. 

Which begged the question, why was he obviously in the afterlife (the only thing he quite knew for certain), but in someone else’s room? He hadn’t been a particularly evil person in his life, he lived by Hobbit rules and standards, and aside from his little _adventure,_ he’d been a perfectly civil and humble Hobbit. So why was he in limbo? To haunt someone? He didn’t think he’d be any good at that in particular. 

But, with a startling memory, he could remember _how_ he died. It left a warm and comfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing that Kili had lived. If there was one thing he did well, in the eyes of the company, it may as well have been this. During the end, they had looked at him with such distain and hate, that maybe this would soothe their ill-feelings towards him. 

More important than anything was the fact that he was just _here._ With no prior information or higher power pushing him in the right direction, he was just... _there._ He’d died with a stark pain in his chest, and the next thing he knew, he was just standing in the corner of some stranger’s room. 

Walking slowly to the bed in the middle of the room, Bilbo took in the high ceilings around him and the various adornments. He couldn’t make out their colors with the swirling of gray and slashes of movement, so eerily familiar. There were various weapons mounted to the wall, tapestries with odd symbols and other such odds and ends. The top of the desk was cluttered with books and papers, scattered about and even falling on the floor. There were boots and random bits of clothing littering the floor, but not enough to call it a messy room. The bed was made, and the bedside nightstand held no personal affects. 

Bilbo sighed as he turned and plopped himself on the bed, cursing his luck. He would have pondered more on the subject if he hadn’t have fallen completely through the bed, landing on the hard ground underneath. His backside smarted, making him wince as he collected himself. 

Well, he couldn’t figure out quite _who_ belonged to this room, but at least he was figuring out the limitations of what he could touch. That was an improvement, albeit a small one. 

If he were to take a guess, he’d assume that he was within Erebor. The ground was cold under his feet and hands as he pushed himself up to his feet again, and the walls, once he looked past the decorations placed on them, were stone, grey as slate. The roof was tall, elaborate, but not one window adorned them. 

Figuring that as sitting wasn’t an option, he’d try his luck at other such things. A quick tug at the door of the room told him it was either locked, or some higher power was keeping him from exiting the room. It didn’t even make a sound as he pulled at it, so he was leaning toward the latter. There were two other doorways in the room, one with a door and one without. The door wouldn’t budge, and his suspicions were confirmed as he tried to go through the entryway that led to a small living area. 

It was as if a invisible barrier were keeping him contained, and no matter how hard he pushed and pushed at it, his hands were always stopped by an invisible wall. He could see the couch and roaring fire within the fireplace, but could not feel the warmth nor the smoky smell of burnt wood. All he could gain from the fire was a small comfort of familiarity, though the grayed out and wavering image was a bit difficult to discern. 

He was trapped. Utterly and irrevocably trapped. Within walls of stone and darkness, no warmth to be found and no comfort to be sought. Was the rest of his eternity confined to this room, to watch whomever lived in it, age and grow without ever seeing him? Would he ever know the sweet hands of death, or would he be forever trapped in this limbo? This limbo of grey images, swirls of grey and white, never to see the sun or to even see color? 

As soon as the thoughts went through his mind, it was as if a deep breath was sucked into his lungs. There was a twist of sound at the door, and suddenly everything cleared. He was almost blindsided with the color and the clarity of the room, he could make out the blues and reds, the deep blacks of the walls, the yellow light of the lamps flickering within it. 

The door slammed, shocking him back to reality and making him whip around to the cause of his clarity. Whom was it that made his whole world come together once again? 

As suddenly as it had come back to him, his breath was stolen once again. 

Kili. 

The youngest of the Durin brothers was probably the most glorious thing Bilbo had ever seen, considering the circumstances. He wore thick royal leathers and belts that were adorned with so many jewels, it was a miracle it stayed up on Kili’s trim hips. The man looked distraught and at odds with himself, standing in the entry way of the room for a mere moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

“Kili!” Bilbo exclaimed, taking a step forward and waving his arms about, his breath picking up as he desperately tried to get the other’s attention. This was _Kili’s_ room, and it was almost obvious now that Bilbo could put it together. These were larger rooms, obviously part of the royal halls, and the arrows and bows adorning the walls were obviously his. 

But Kili didn’t see him, his only acknowledgement that he might’ve heard Bilbo being the small start in his shoulders. But when the youngest Durin just shook his head with a wistful sigh, Bilbo knew all his attempts were for naught. 

Turning with his voice caught in his throat, Bilbo proceeded to watch as Kili slowly started to disrobe. His jacket went first, hung carefully in his wardrobe, followed by his belts, treated in a similar fashion. he merely threw his overcoat on the ground, as with his boots, and soon he was standing near his bed in nothing but a threadbare shirt and trousers. 

It was only then that Bilbo realized Kili was crying. 

“Oh, Kili....” Bilbo moved to the prince’s side, raising a hand to place it on the other’s shoulder. He knew with startling clarity what ailed Kili so, and it strained at his own heart to see the boy mourning for him. He didn’t think anyone would be mourning his death, not with what he had done before he passed, but apparently he had been very wrong. He wanted to comfort Kili, but when his hand sailed right through the prince’s shoulder, he knew that he could do no such thing. 

It was with even more clarity that he realized why he was here. He was to watch those he loved mourn his death, mourn his life and what could have been. He was to watch Kili continue his life without Bilbo in it, the man Bilbo had so feverishly fought to save. 

With his back pressed against the wall, Bilbo slid to the ground, pleased to find he didn’t sink through it. From this vantage, he could see the tremor to Kili’s shoulders, the clench of his hands, the way his teeth were clenched behind his lips. If this was the fate of Bilbo after his death, to stay within the Isimun Nalim and forever watch over Kili, he couldn’t say it was the worst fate he could’ve been given. 

There was a knock at the door, and Bilbo didn’t bother to get up, choosing to watch whatever interaction that was about to occur from his corner in the room. It was a very good vantage point, and he could see nearly every corner, spare the one partially hidden by the wardrobe. 

He wasn’t surprised when Kili answered the door to reveal Fili, the older brother almost as withdrawn and sullen as the brunette. They spoke no words, but walked into the room and closed the door behind them. Their movements were familiar and routine, as they gravitated towards each other and simply held one another. They were achingly close as family, knowing exactly what the other needed within seconds. 

Bilbo almost felt as if he shouldn’t be watching, the raw display of love and commitment that Fili and Kili had built over the years, being closer to one another than to anyone else. 

“Fili, I just...” Kili shuddered, digging his face into Fili’s shoulder and fighting to not sob, “He’s gone, he’s completely gone. He’s six feet under the ground and I just....” 

“Shh...” Fili cooed, running his hands carefully through Kili’s hair and pressing a gentle kiss against his brother’s temple, “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Kili thrashed, trying to push away from his brother and protest, but Fili’s arms were tight around him, not budging an inch in Kili’s weak protests. Crying and sobbing, Kili shook his head frantically, “No! It _is_ my fault! It’s all my fault! It should have been me!” 

Bilbo brought his knees to his chest slowly, the cold of his surroundings seeping under his skin. It wasn’t the cold, though, that caused his fingers to tremble and his eyes to fill with tears. It was his fault, all his fault that Kili was so distraught and lost. But not for a second did Bilbo regret his decision, for if he did, then that would mean he wished Kili dead. He would repeat the action a hundred times if he had to, to ensure that Kili lived and continued to live with his family. 

“ _Bilbo...!”_

But that didn’t mean that Kili’s cries wouldn’t haunt him, wouldn’t tear at his soul. For that’s what they did. Each sob, each cry of his name made Bilbo’s heart wrench more. 

“Don’t you dare say that, Kili.” Fili’s hold was almost desperate as his brother spoke the words, his own resolve fading at the events of the past couple days, and the way his brother was speaking, he couldn’t handle it, “Please don’t say that.” 

It was so intimate and heartbreaking that Bilbo had to look away. He could hear their murmured conversation and the stifled cries as they continued to hold one another. He felt a particular agony seeping into his bones as he heard them talk and cry. He knew the loss of a loved one, and wether or not Fili and Kili would consider Bilbo that close, he knew they were having a hard time of it. 

But Kili would grow, and learn to forget. He would forget the hobbit that had helped them take back their city, for Bilbo was not memorable in the slightest.

 

The next morning was no better. Bilbo had been looking forward to seeing Kili’s smile once more, for it would be the evidence that they were truly getting over him. The sooner they moved past his death, the sooner he could watch them in happiness rather than this sallow despair. 

Kili had been awake for an hour now, just staring at the ceiling with deep and sunken eyes. Well, Bilbo mused, he really wouldn’t use the word ‘awake’, seeing as the young dwarrow had slept nary a wink the night before. What restless slumber he did get was wrought with terrors, making him toss and turn, before waking in a cold sweat. 

It broke Bilbo’s heart to be able to do nothing for the young dwarrow, unable to offer a comforting hand. To be honest, he didn’t quite know what he would do if he _could_ comfort the boy, seeing as he was dead, and the dead rarely came back to comfort the living.

So we find Bilbo on one of the chairs near the doorway, feet perched on the edge and arms wrapped around his knees. Kili had been awake for the better part of an hour, staring sourly at the ceiling in hopes that it would give him the answers he sought. He had stopped crying the night before, Bilbo remembered, somewhere in the middle of the night. 

It was another thing that revealed itself to Bilbo. He couldn’t sleep, despite how hard he may have tried. Nowhere in his body did he feel that usual pull of weariness or a desire to close his eyes and fall into the night. He merely stayed away, never feeling the soft comforts of slumber. 

Perhaps it, too, was punishment for what he’d done. 

Startled from his thoughts by a sigh, Bilbo watched as Kili slowly sat up in his bed, running a tired hand through his hair. He looked like death itself, his eyes sunken and dark shadows lurking under them. He breathed slightly, and Bilbo could barely catch his own name being murmured as the young one exited the bed. It hurt every time, hearing Kili mourn him so. 

As Kili stood, grabbing a discarded shirt and pulling it on hastily, he turned to make his way into the bathroom. Standing up with him, Bilbo followed cautiously, watching as Kili breached the invisible barrier into the living area with the fireplace still roaring. It was like a great bucket of water poured over him, and Bilbo could smell the burning pine, feel the warmth of the fire, and hear the crack of the maple. 

Feet carrying him swiftly after the young one, Bilbo made no hesitation in running past the doorway and into the living room, breathing deep and happy at the smell of smoke and warmth. It was a small pleasure in a world of torment, and Bilbo found happiness in knowing his limitations as.... he didn’t even want to say it. 

As a _ghost._

He heard the soft click of the bathroom door closing behind the Durin, and was fully prepared to curl up in front of the fire, when there was a sudden flash of something uncomfortable. His eyes whited out and he felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. 

Gasping for breath as his eyes cleared, Bilbo realized he was once more in Kili’s bedroom, unable to feel the warmth of the fire nor hear the crackle of the wood. In fact, it was much like when he’d first woken from death in this limbo, the dark and drab grays of death surrounding him and dulling his senses. 

He didn’t quite have the time to come to his senses before Kili entered the room once more, clearing the gray. 

For every good thing that he learned about his predicament, it seemed as if two more disappointments were stacked on. It felt as though his mood was around his feet by now, waves of depression and sadness waving over him in droves. He would no longer be able to taste the sweet spice of Old Toby, no longer be able to feel the grass between his toes, wouldn’t feel the warmth of an embrace or the softness of a kind smile directed at only him. 

“Curse Durin’s beard!” 

Bilbo was effectively shocked from his self-loathing by the strong curse, followed closely by a long string of Khuzdul. Kili’s hair was even more bedraggled than before, his hands clenched at the front of his pants as he desperately tried to buckle the two ends of a belt together. His face was torn with agony, his shoulders shaking as he fought with his own emotions. 

Honestly shocked with how torn up about the whole situation Kili was, Bilbo slowly started to take a few steps forward, his voice caught in his throat. His own heart throbbed in sorrow, distantly wondering where Kili’s brother was. This poor boy desperately needed comfort, and if Bilbo couldn’t do it himself, then someone else needed to. 

“Curse it all!” Kili exclaimed, throwing the belt to the floor and storming over it, his cheeks already burning with tears as he stormed about his room. Whatever came by his path eventually made it to the floor as he thrashed the room, throwing everything and toppling over whatever he could get his hands on. Even the huge wardrobe that held Kili’s royal garb didn’t stand a chance, but the loud boom of it toppling to the floor seemed to jar Kili from his rampage. 

And then -- Kili just screamed. Clenching his eyes shut and his shoulders hunched, he just screamed to the world.

Bilbo didn’t know what was worse, the violent outburst or the heart-wrenching cry. 

The door to the room was thrown open in a haste, and Bilbo barely had time to glance before Thorin was storming into the room. The man’s long hair was oddly unkempt, he wore none of his usual finery, instead sporting a loose grey shirt and equally loose pants. He made no noise, no sound, but gently walked with determination into the room. 

Kili spotted his uncle, immediately deflating and turning his face away, “Get out, leave me be.” 

Bilbo watched on bated breath. He knew that pride and strength were deemed higher than anything, spare gold, for a Dwarf. Would Thorin diminish Kili for crying, for having such an outburst? Was the King Under the Mountain here to berate his nephew? Bilbo’s heart struck in fear, for that was the last thing Kili needed right now. 

If Thorin did anything to hurt the boy, Bilbo would personally haunt the man, despite the thrill in his heart he got when he looked at him. 

Instead, Thorin shocked them both by strongly gathering his nephew into his arms and tucking Kili’s head under his chin, running a comforting hand up and down his back. Thorin’s own face was distraught, his eyes closing as Kili made a strangled sound and burrowed into the larger man’s embrace. 

“I...” Thorin began, and once again, Bilbo felt as though he were intruding on something so intimate. The family ties the three Durin’s had was something Bilbo had not seen in years, and he felt his eyes prickle with tears at the pure devotion and love. Thorin sighed, holding the other a margin tighter, “I’m not going to say everything is going to be okay. Because it’s not.” 

“How can I....” Kili gasped, his voice strained as he shook his head, hands almost white with how hard he was clenching them, “How can I live with this pain? He’s...He’s gone because of me.” 

“Kili.” Thorin is pulling back, and Bilbo just barely sees him cup his nephew’s cheeks in his hand before he turns away. He feels so much like he’s intruding, and feels as though he could allow them this small offer of privacy. Thorin would be distraught enough just knowing that Bilbo witnessed him in such a weak state. 

Thorin sighed, the sound making Bilbo wince, “Kili, never blame this on yourself. What Bilbo did....”

Wincing again, but this time in shame, Bilbo knew he was about to be berated. Even in death, Thorin wouldn’t see him as higher than an ant under his boot. They had some semblance of camaraderie after the attack of Azog, when Bilbo had saved him, and even afterwards. It was enough of a friendship that Bilbo had accidentally let it fester into something more. It never came to light, his affection and deep connection with the king, but it was obvious that Thorin never saw him as more than a simple companion. 

He made that painfully clear when he threatened to throw Bilbo from the high wall of Erebor. 

“What Bilbo did was amazing and incredibly brave. Not many would give their life for another in such a selfless way.” Thorin still didn’t quite understand what had happened that day, but he could not give it much thought without feeling his breath shorten and his mind immediately take him back to the image of Bilbo’s dead eyes and lifeless body. Taking a deep breath, he strained to continue, “We must remember him for his brave deeds, not mourn him.” 

Bilbo felt the flush begin at his neck and work its way up his cheek and jaw. The words that came from the King’s mouth were definitely not what he was expecting, and a surge of warmth accompanied his flush. He couldn’t say that this was the best situation he could be in, inadvertently eavesdropping on the pair, while not being able to do anything about it seeing as he was a bloody _poltergeist,_ but he found a small happiness in knowing that the King no longer thought of him as a traitor. 

Kili sniffled, a small smile edging out on his face as he glanced wearily up at his uncle, “Like the time he bested the trolls by telling them to skin us?” 

“Or the time he bested the bastard elven King himself by sneaking us from his prison.” Thorin chuckled, his shoulders shaking, but not from the mirth of their stories. 

They continued like this, sharing story after story of Bilbo’s bravery and heroism (though most of them strongly exaggerated). Bilbo had never felt more honored, but never more sorrowful than at that moment. 

By the time Thorin’s last words faded into the darkness and left a empty silence, all of them had painful tears staining their faces; but a sorrowful acceptance in their hearts. 

Bilbo was dead, and that was how he was going to stay. 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

“You know, I used to have a cat.” Bilbo mused more to himself, running his fingers absently through the hair adorning his feet as he regarded them with a tilt of his head. If he were to look up, he would see Kili lounging on the couch before the fire, leaning heavily against his brother, a open book on his thighs. It had been about a week since the end of the battle, since Bilbo’s death, and the poor dwarrow hadn’t so much as left his room. Fili had become somewhat of a shadow to the youngest Durin, keeping his shoulders steeled and will strong for his brother. 

Laughing at the memory, Bilbo smiled wistfully, “I named it Rhubarb, as I had a particular fondness for my mother’s rhubarb pie. I only had it for a week before I realized a eleven-year-old Hobbit shouldn’t be taking care of a living animal.” 

They probably would have laughed if they could hear him, putting in their own two-cents and offering a story. He remembered when they used to laugh, and couldn’t wait until he could hear that sound again. The silence they sat in for the last week had been suffocating, and even Thorin’s attempt to cheer Kili up those few days ago had only lasted a couple hours. Kili no longer cried, and he hadn’t had another outburst, but every time Fili left the room, he would curl himself up under his covers and stay there for hours. 

Bilbo was just about to start on another story, whether to placate his boredom or his need for something to fill the silence, he didn’t know, when he was interrupted by the eldest, blonde brother. 

“Ki, I’m going to head to the kitchen and grab some lunch, do you want anything?” Fili asked, though they both knew that regardless of the answer, Fili would be bringing back a rather large portion for his brother. 

Shrugging, Kili glanced up over his shoulder absently, offering a soft and shallow smile, “No, I’m not hungry.” 

Bilbo huffed, sending the young one a glare, “You should eat more, you’re going to starve yourself.” 

Kili let out a long and wistful sigh as the door to his rooms gently clicked closed, realizing that he was getting nowhere with the book, and letting it slip off his lap and onto the floor. Standing with an aching stretch of his back, Kili made his way into his bedroom. 

Hopping to his feet, Bilbo quickly made to follow the other with a particular melancholy feeling in his bones. He wasn’t too fond of the feeling he’d get when he was transported back to the bedroom when Kili left, so he made it a point to stick as close to the other as possible. He could sometimes convince himself that he wasn’t dead, that he was actually sitting with them, in a companionable silence. He was always interrupted by the flash of white and the punch in the stomach, when he’d accidentally get distracted and let Kili out of his sight. 

Wondering absently what Fili was going to get Kili for lunch, hoping it wasn’t too spectacular or Bilbo would get mighty jealous. He followed close behind the brunette, slumping his shoulders and wistfully thinking of all the food he couldn’t eat anymore. He knew he was torturing himself, but he would rather remember them now, remember how things tasted and smelled, before he forgot them entirely and had no pleasant memories to rely on. 

He was about to flick his eyes up to ask Kili a question he knew would go unanswered, when suddenly the dwarrow’s feet stopped moving and Bilbo couldn’t catch himself. Stuttering on his feet, Bilbo fell forward toward the other, his feet stumbling forward to catch himself. He’d never tried to touch any of the dwarrows before, not while he’d been kept prisoner in Kili’s room. 

It was like all his breath was drawn from his lungs, and for a split second it was like he _was_ Kili. He could hear the young dwarrow’s thoughts for a split second, feel the roughness of the fabric against his skin, the pressure of boots on his feet, the tickle of stubble against his chin. Like a storm, they came and went in a split second, and Bilbo was left taking a deep breath from the assault. 

Kili had been thinking of many things, but the forefront image was one of Bilbo’s fallen body, crumpled on the ground. _My fault, my fault, my fault._

“Oh dear, please do warn me the next time you plan on stopping.” Bilbo huffed, catching himself at the last second before he made a uncomfortable meeting with the ground. Nervously patting at his thighs, he continued to take a few more breaths, calming himself. He didn’t particularly enjoy _that_ discovery, and he was already making a point to never have to repeat it. He’d have to work harder on finding corners to wedge himself into to keep that from happening. 

Silence greeted him, but not the usual silence. Bilbo was fully expecting Kili to keep moving into his bedroom to wait for his brother, but there was no sound of his boots hitting the floor, nor of a whisper of breath. 

“....Bilbo?” 

Once again it felt as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs. There was no possible way that voice could be talking to him, but who else could Kili be talking to? The timber of Kili’s voice gave evidence to his shock and awe, sounding small and feeble, as if he knew his eyes were playing tricks on him. 

Turning slowly, Bilbo took a deep and shaky breath as he finally came to face the other. 

Kili’s eyes were blown wide and his face had gone as pale as a sheet. His entire body was straight as a rail, his breath barely tittering out in small and disbelieving gasps. His eyes were trained on Bilbo, but instead of looking _through_ Bilbo like usual, they were looking _at him._

_Kili was looking at him._

“You...” Bilbo gaped, his breath huffing out in disbelief but a sweltering and almost overpowering hope rising in his chest, “You can see me?” 

“ _Aüle,_ I’m really going crazy." Kili made an aborted move towards Bilbo, his hand halfway outstretched before he stopped and clenched it. A series of emotions played over Kili’s face as he tried to take in exactly what he was seeing, his eyes wide and blood-shot as he gaped. Bilbo could imagine what he was going through, seeing as he was probably feeling the same emotions at the fact Kili could _see_ him. 

Bilbo huffed a breath, before shifting to stand directly toward the prince, “Kili....” 

“Why has Aüle chosen to show me such visions?” Kili murmured to himself, huffing out a breath as he wrenched his eyes away from Bilbo’s form, closing them tightly as if to will away the apparition, “Why must the great ones torture me so?” 

“This is no vision, Kili.” Bilbo murmured, fighting for breath as he bought a single hand to press at his chest, though he could no longer feel his heart beat, “It is those very same great ones that have chosen for me to watch over you.” 

Kili’s eyes slid open once more, his shoulders shuddering with a powerful intensity as he once again spared Bilbo a single glance. As he did so, his face practically crumbled, already wide eyes growing more so, “You cannot be here with me.”

“Kili, I do not--” Bilbo was close to finishing his sentence, but was interrupted by the jiggle of the door leading to the hallway, it softly opening. Shocked, he turned toward the intrusion, watching Fili enter with a large tray of food in one hand, and two mugs of ale in the other. When he turned back to Kili, he saw those searching eyes, deep brown flicking this way and that as if searching for something in the room. 

Kili could no longer see him. 

“Ki?” Fili hesitantly approached his brother, tilting his head cautiously as he watched the suddenly pale dwarrow, “Is something wrong?” 

Kili’s eyes searched for just a moment more, before letting his shoulders sink and his eyes close in a withered acceptance. He looked worse than ever before, distraught and barely held together by his wavering sanity. Bilbo had _been_ there, he’d seen him with his own eyes, that apparition of death. He had seen the rosy color of his cheeks, his wide green eyes, that honey-golden hair, all of which Kili had thought he’d never see again. 

Fili quickly deposited the food and drinks down on the bedside table, scurrying to his brother’s side and gently taking Kili into his arms, “Kili? What is the matter?”

No words could possibly describe what he was feeling, what he had just seen. It felt as though he had lost the hobbit all over again, and it was entirely his fault once more. His stomach was in knots, and despite it all, he felt such joy at the image of the hobbit. Seeing Bilbo there, standing and staring, looking as shocked as Kili had felt, Kili could almost have believed that he was back. 

“Bilbo....” Kili breathed as he burrowed into his brother’s hold as hard and tight as he could, “He was so small, do you remember? I had always grown up thinking everything was so much larger than us, that dwarrows were the smallest of creatures.” 

Fili patiently waited, listening and catching every word his brother said with earnest, feeling a pang in the chest at the memory of their fallen comrade. He did, in fact, remember how small Bilbo had been. He especially remembered the small and lifeless body crumpled on the ground. 

“But then we met him.” Kili snorted cynically, shaking his head, “Do you know what my first was when we met him? _How could such a tiny creature cause such a fuss in the company?”_

“We all thought that, Ki.” Fili tried to argue, but was swiftly cut off by Kili’s roughly shaking head. 

Everything rushed back to Kili, the things he wished he’d told Bilbo, the things he wished he’d shared. He laughed again unconsciously, the sound hollow and wet from tears, “Now I realize, he was much bigger than all of us. He taught me more about respect in our small time together than the years I spent on the road. I thought of him as much of an uncle as Thorin.” 

“I, too.” Fili closed his own eyes in pain, pulling his brother closer and pressing his nose into Kili’s hair, trying desperately to be strong, though every fiber in his being was telling him to break down. He had to be strong. He must be strong. 

Bilbo, on the other hand, couldn’t help but place a trembling hand to his mouth as he held back his own sobs. Silent tears were making their way down his face as he watched them, his body throbbing and jolting with aborted sobs. His other hand clenched tight enough to numb at his shirt, for if he didn’t, he knew he’d reach out and try and touch one of them. His heart couldn’t take it, if he went to comfort them and his hand passed through. 

Watching them both, seeing their struggles made Bilbo close his eyes in torment. The younger brother, the youthful and innocent dwarrow that once never went without a smile, burrowing into his brother and letting out pitiful and heart-wrenching sobs. The elder dwarrow, trying so hard to be the strong and confident Durin he was meant to be, the next in line after Thorin, the epitome of strength. He was barely shaking, reigning in his emotions with such sorrow that should not have been on one so young. 

It killed Bilbo to be the cause of this. 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

 

 

Bilbo found that it was three days before anyone left Kili alone. 

The process of following Kili from room to room was tedious, timing when to jump though the doors and trying to catch Kili before he was left alone. It had become second nature by the second day, as Kili wouldn’t stay in the same room for more than an hour at a time. 

At least he wasn’t alone in his efforts, as Fili followed his brother like a shadow every minute. It was half on his own volition, half due to Kili’s insistence. Kili was afraid to be alone, his breathing growing short and his stomach heavy at the notion of being alone. 

Bilbo knew it was because of him and it hurt, more than anything he’d ever felt. 

But, Bilbo simply wouldn’t leave him, even if his presence wouldn’t be of any help. He could see Kili fading more and more with every day, and the most he could do to keep himself from falling into despair was remind himself that dwarrows were not like Elves. They would not fade of sorrow from the loss of a loved one. Kili would heal, both emotionally and psychologically, and he would slowly forget Bilbo. 

Despite how desperately Bilbo wished for Kili to move on and smile again, he was utterly terrified of being forgotten. 

So, as he perched himself near the door, in perfect view of Kili as he restlessly slept, it was somewhat of a shock when Fili left the room with a parting press of his lips against Kili’s brow. 

Even more shocking was the fact that Kili woke not seconds later, his chest heaving with every breath as he fought against the images his mind conjured while asleep. His hands wandered around the bed, subconsciously seeking out the comfort of his brother. When his hands met nothing but the warm sheets, he stilled. 

Bilbo’s breath stuck in his chest as Kili shot up, his bedraggled hair flying about his face as he drastically searched the room, hoping to find a familiar head of blonde hair. Anything to keep the silence of the room away and the sinking feeling of loneliness. 

But instead, his eyes landed, once more, on Bilbo. 

“No....” Kili breathed as his face crumpled, his hands fisting in the sheets as he shook his head, “No, please, not again.” 

“Kili.” Bilbo breathed, almost happy to know that Kili could once again see him, though it was short lived due to how utterly wrecked Kili looked. It was a small triumph to come to the hesitant hypothesis that maybe Kili could only see him when other’s weren’t present, but with as many questions that were answered, more were asked. 

Kili’s voice had lowered to that of a mere murmur, mixing his Westron and Khuzdul together in a slur of words. He had closed his eyes tightly, and even reached up to clutch at his head with a white and shaking hand. 

“Kili, please.” Bilbo slowly got to his feet, but didn’t approach the other, acting as though he were dealing with a wounded and feral animal, “Look at me. It’s me.”

“No.” Kili breathed, body hunching forward as he let out a small whine from the back of his throat, “You have obviously been put here to torture and torment me. There is no other reason than this.” 

Bilbo felt his non-existent heart freeze in pain as he watched the other fight with himself. Stepping forward, he shook his head, “That is not the reason, Kili, for you have done nothing worth torment. It is I who needs to answer to the great ones. I made the choice to give my life for yours.” 

“It wasn’t your decision to make!” Kili cried, fresh tears streaming down his face as he whipped on the other, his chest heaving as he fought to comprehend the situation and understand it to the best of his ability, “I was _ready_ to make my sacrifice to Aüle, I was _ready_ to meet the great ones in the beyond.” 

“And I wasn’t ready to let you meet them just yet.” Bilbo smiled softly, shrugging as though they were talking about the weather, and Bilbo weren’t a ghost haunting this poor dwarrow prince, “You are too young, you have your whole life ahead of you. It was an easy decision.” 

“What of your life, Bilbo?” Kili laughed at the audacity of it, having an argument with an apparition, a _ghost_ ,“You had _no right_ to give your life for mine! You say I had my whole life, but what of _you?_ You cannot simply give one life for another, despite _age,_ or .. or... _lineage._ You had _no right.”_

“Be that as it may.” Bilbo murmured, sighing softly, finding his chest filled with a subtle warmth at seeing an emotion other than sorrow on Kili’s face, even if it was anger, “I did what I saw fit, Kili. I would not take it back, not even if given the choice again a hundred times.”

These words seemed to make Kili deflate, sinking back into his mattress. It was a rather rude awakening, but if at all possible, Kili seemed a bit less...lethargic than he had been in previous days. Bilbo couldn’t couldn’t begin to fathom how Kili felt about this whole situation, but as he was on the opposite end of the spectrum, he was having some trouble himself. 

“W...why are you here?” Kili murmured, pushing back the blankets and slowly getting to his feet, though his eyes barely ever left Bilbo’s form. They’d flicker to the ground and around the room every once in a while, but mostly stayed glued to the form of the hobbit standing solitary near his bedroom door. 

Kili slowly made his way around the foot of the bed, but was hesitant to go any closer, “...I remember you calling for me, I remember the darkness, but other than that, I just remember waking up.” 

Sighing, Bilbo answered to the best of his ability, even though that wasn’t very much, “I....I don’t know either. I just...woke up here, about a week ago.” 

Kili didn’t have a reply. With each passing second he willed himself to step closer, inch by inch. The room was stuffy and cold, the tension so thick that Bilbo could practically feel it pressing against him as he tried to breathe. Many thoughts and questions flickered through his mind as he stayed perfectly still for Kili, afraid to scare him away. What were they going to do now? What was _Kili_ going to do now? 

“ _Aule,_ Bilbo....” Kili made the last few steps separating them in a quick shuffle, his hands outstretched as if to hold him, _touch_ him, anything. But he stopped, at the last second he stopped, his eyes searching the other’s and his breath coming in pants. 

Suddenly, as if clouds were clearing and a great weight was coming off his shoulders, Kili laughed. It was soft, and nothing near the usual laugh that Bilbo knew Kili was capable of, but it was still there, accompanied by that smile. It was a morbid situation, he knew, but he had never been so entirely _happy_ to see anyone in his entire life. 

“ _Bilbo!”_


	2. Ozodl Hurun

Kili wished more than anything that he could hug Bilbo, but he knew that it probably wasn’t an option at this point. He had to just be content with staying near him and seeing that although the hobbit was _dead,_ he was well and ... healthy? 

Well, as much as a _ghost_ could be healthy. 

“How did...” Kili breathed, hovering around the hobbit, his hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching as he looked Bilbo over, “How did this even _happen?”_

Bilbo huffed a laugh of his own, shaking his head and shrugging incredulously, “I don’t know, I just _appeared._ I....” 

As sudden as the happiness had found him, it left him just as swiftly. He hadn’t really thought about what he’d felt when he died, it had just happened and he didn’t want to bring himself to think about it. But now? In the face of Kili, with the reality of the situation sinking in, he couldn’t help but face it. 

As much as the residual happiness left him with a fuzzy feeling in his chest, he couldn’t help but sigh at the general _lost_ feeling he had at the whole situation. 

“...I just, right before I died, I remember pleading with the great ones. With all my soul I wished for them to grant you passage back to this earth,” Bilbo huffed, smiling wistfully again as he rose his gaze to meet Kili’s, “the great ones put me here.” 

“Surely they didn’t bring you back just to watch me for the rest of my life.” Kili offered with a huff of a laugh. It was ridiculous, surely there was another... Kili tried to keep the mood light, but couldn’t help but let the notion of the idea truly sunk in. He shook his head with a slightly more cynical laugh, “Even the great ones would not be so malevolent as to grant such a fate, especially someone as kind-hearted as you.”

Bilbo smiled softly, feeling warm at the sentiment. He was lost and confused, and a _ghost;_ but Kili continued to make him smile, despite how much he wanted to freak out and just curl into a ball and cry, but he couldn’t. 

“No matter what reason I’m here, Kili, and even if I weren’t....You need to stop mourning me.” Bilbo held his hand up when Kili immediately went to argue, “No, you have to live your life, you can’t continue fading like this. Please. It hurts me to see you so withdrawn.” 

“But...” Kili didn’t know what he could say with the information he had. Knowing that Bilbo was here with him but out of reach, that he could see the other but not hold him, that he could speak to him but not feel the warmth of another, it was too much for Kili to take in. Bilbo had been put back on this earth by the great ones, but not in a form that could do anything of use. Bilbo could no longer eat, no longer drink, no longer move on his own will. His entire being was connected to Kili, and that alone made the young dwarrow’s heart lurch painfully. 

“No buts.” Bilbo cut in, giving the young one his familiar smile, the one filled with so much love, the kind of smile of warmth that one would give their own child, “Do not mourn me, just remember the times that we had and...” 

Bilbo took a breath as he heard the jiggle of the handle, indicating someone was entering. 

“Just remember that I love you.” 

 

 

Fili felt as though he could cry of happiness when he walked into Kili’s room that morning. He had felt guilty leaving, but he had to see to Thorin, as Kili wasn’t the only one with wounds that needed soothing. Thorin was stoic and strong, but Fili could see through his thick outer-walls and see into the pain. 

Everyone was having a hard time with Bilbo’s passing, but Kili and Thorin were at the top of that list. Kili for his guilt. Thorin for his love. 

You didn’t need to be a Durin to see that Thorin had been helplessly in love with Bilbo. 

Thorin had delved into his work with a vengeance, barely leaving time to eat nor sleep. He had delegations and meetings and papers to sign and envoys to greet and caravans to document. He had a load of things to keep himself completely occupied, and he was using them to their full potential. Thorin was running himself into the ground, but Fili was more than willing to let him. This was how dwarrow coped with the loss of their One, and it was something Fili knew Thorin would never fully get over. 

It would be expected for Thorin to never smile, truly, again. 

So Fili had headed back to Kili’s room with a heavy heart and a pit of dread in his stomach. He had to remain strong and brave for his family, for the rest of the company when all others couldn’t deal with their sorrow; but he didn’t know if he could handle seeing Kili’s mournful face one more time. 

So, it was with no small amount of glee that when he opened the door to Kili’s room, he found his brother seated upon the bed with a soft smile on his face. 

“Got something to eat?” 

Fili could have cried, and he found himself laughing almost hysterically as he practically sprinted to his brother. Gathering Kili in his arms, Fili spun them around the room, his arms tighter than they had ever been. It was a small one, and it was a mere shadow of what it once was, but Kili had been _smiling._

“Oh, Kili.” The blonde breathed, happily setting the brunette on his feet and pressing his nose into Kili’s neck, his shoulders shaking from a strange mixture of utter happiness and disbelief, “ _Kili._ ”

“ _Fili._ ” 

It was amazing, the feel of strong arms around you, holding you in a tight embrace. Kili could spend hours in Fili’s arms, it was the most stable and comforting thing in his entire life. They were closer to each other than anyone else in their life. There were two parts of a whole.

“What...what caused this change in mood?” The question was hesitant, as Fili was nervous of breaking this solemn happiness that Kili had fallen into, but his curiosity was too much. 

“I saw Bilbo....in a dream.” Kili was stumbling over his words, trying to put them together so that his brother didn’t think he was insane, “I remembered him as he _was_...kind, smiling, happy...”

Fili sighed, feeling his heart lurch and his hands tighten that much more around his brother, closing his eyes to the onslaught of emotion he was receiving. He, too, had often dwelled on Bilbo more often than not these past few days after the battle. He had his own threads of guilt, as did everyone, and he often found himself turning to find Bilbo, only to remember he wasn’t there. 

“It is going to be hard, but I know Bilbo would not want me mourning him so.” Kili’s voice was oddly contemplative as he spoke aloud, pressing his cheek down on Fili’s shoulder. Though he could no longer see Bilbo, not even sense his presence in the room, he felt better knowing that he was there, “I know he’d want me to be happy.” 

“We all do.” Fili almost choked, taking a deep breath and feeling an amazing about of relief and happiness at Kili’s words, almost not believing that Kili could have done such a complete turn around. But Fili wasn’t about to question it, and instead tightened his hold on his brother, not wanting to let him go just yet. 

Bilbo, on the other hand, pressed the back of his hand to his lips, fighting the smile that desperately wanted to break free. He was surprisingly happy for someone who was dead, cursed to remain stationary on the planet and watch over people. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to become overly depressed about the fact, and it was in part due to the two standing in front of him, still holding each other as closely as possible. One of the things he would have missed was seeing these two grow old, find love, rule their kingdom, and have a plentiful life. 

But even Bilbo couldn’t lie to himself about the true fact of the matter. He wasn’t upset about his fate, because being a ghost, trapped to another such as he was....

He would be able to see Thorin. 

It was the one thing that he was scared most for, right before he died. He couldn’t remember most of his thought process when he had begged for Kili back. He could remember desperation, begging, a deep and searing fear. Fear for Kili, initially, but when he felt his soul being torn away and the understanding that Kili would live, he felt a completely different kind of fear. 

Fear that he’d never see Thorin again. It was a terrible fear, but there was no regret whatsoever. He didn’t lie to Kili, he would make the same decision a thousand times over if he had to. It was one of the up-sides to the situation he was in, realizing that he would still be able to see Thorin. 

But it also came with the realization that Thorin would never be able to see him. He would never touch Thorin again, never look into his eyes, never get that smile directed at him, ever again. He would have to watch as Thorin found another to be with. Even though Thorin and he were never intimate, never truly shared their feelings, Bilbo knew it would be one of the most difficult things in his life to watch Thorin wed and have a family with another. 

He never got to tell Thorin that he loved him. 

“Hey, what do you say we go get some food with the company?” Fili asked, albeit a bit hesitantly, one of his hands protectively resting along the juncture between Kili’s jaw and neck, “They’ve been worried sick over you.”

“Yeah.” Kili nodded, leaning into his brother’s hold and letting out a soft sigh, reaching up and taking Fili’s hand in his own, “That sounds like a great idea.” 

Bilbo could jump for joy, quickly scuttling closer to the two as he readied himself to leave the room. He so wanted to see the rest of the company, see how they were doing after the end of the war, see if everyone was alright. He would love to see them again. 

Fili sighed happily, reaching down and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Kili’s nose, before grasping Kili’s hand and leading him toward the door. The air seemed almost warmer throughout the mountain as they made their way to a clean dining area, one of the only ones that had been cleared since the battle. 

Bilbo had a particular skip in his step as he followed the two, making sure to keep as close to Kili as possible to insure he wouldn’t be ported back to the room. He was definitely looking forward to seeing the rest of the company, and he wouldn’t want it to be cut short. 

 

 

 

“Okay, so I’ve been thinking.” Kili leaned forward and leveled his eyes on Bilbo, of whom was sitting curiously on the cold concrete, leaning forward in interest, “See, there _has_ to be a reason you’re here.” 

Bilbo had been more than pleased when Kili continued to see him, just as long as no one else was in the room. Kili had been elated as well, smiling wider than he had in a while and moving to plop himself in front of Bilbo on the ground. 

The dinner with the company had gone beautifully, all of them smiling and joking together, albeit not as loudly as they usually would have. Their wounds were still fresh, both the physical and the emotional ones. Bilbo hadn’t been brought up once, and every time the conversation seemed to veer in his direction, someone would quickly change it toward something more uplifting. It would most likely be quite some time before the company could mention Bilbo’s name comfortably in conversation. 

“Well, I’m here to watch over you.” Bilbo shrugged, running his hands absently over his calves as he reveled in the conversation, sparse as they were these days. Ever since Kili’s mood improved, the entire company had been set on coming to see him and make sure he was alright. 

Kili shook his head, getting the familiar set in his brow, the look Bilbo could recognize from a mile away; determination, “No. You said it yourself, you asked the great ones, the Valar. Mahal and Yavanna are the ones that most listen to us Dwarrow, and I daresay that Námo may have a part in this.”

“Námo?” Bilbo tilted his head, his interest piqued indeed. He had a great number of books, himself, and while there were a few in his collection he had not managed to read, they were mostly on herbs, landmarks, and recipes. He had little knowledge on the Valar of the land. 

Kili nodded, “Námo is the Valar of death, judging those whom have died. The Valar are a great force, but they are not vindictive, especially not Mahal. They all follow the rule of Eru.” 

“Eru? As in the Father of All?” Bilbo did know that name, but only from stories of his mother and father. Though they did believe in the great ones and the creators, but he had never been too interested in learning of them further. When he had begged them for Kili’s life, he wasn’t even quite certain to which he was begging. 

Kili nodded, his eyes meeting Bilbo’s, “If he truly is the force behind this, it cannot be as simple as we see it. He would not bring you back just for you to watch over me. None of the Great Ones would give someone with a pure a heart as you such a fate.” 

Unable to fight the flush that crept up on his face, Bilbo ducked his head and looked off to the side, a little hesitant flutter of happiness in his chest. As comforting as it was to hear Kili say those words, Bilbo still couldn’t bring himself to believe them, “I am not as pure-hearted as you believe.” 

“Bilbo....” Kili leaned leaned forward, wishing that he could touch the other or comfort him, as the look on Bilbo’s face was truly heartbreaking. 

Bilbo shook his head with a soft and cynical laugh, “Maybe that _is_ why I’m here. I stole the Arkenstone from Thorin, I betrayed his trust. I betrayed all of you.” 

“No, no, you can’t think that Bilbo.” Kili did the next best thing in leu of wrapping his arms around Bilbo, seeing as it was physically impossible. Crawling forward on his hands and knees, he sat as close to Bilbo as he could without overlapping. It was a hard impulse to fight, to keep his hands completely still, instead of trying to place them on Bilbo, “No one, _no one_ thinks you a betrayer anymore, Bilbo. You were here when he spoke, were you not? You heard him.”

“That’s because it is unseemly to think ill of the dead.” Bilbo laughed, raising his eyes, full to the brim with tears and threatening to fall, to Kili’s. He _had_ heard Thorin, and at the time, his heart had soared with the words and his spirits had never been higher. But, if there was one thing this punishment offered him, it was _time._ Time to think over it truly, and while the words were soft in his heart, he doubted them, “If I were still living, would Thorin have retracted his banishment? I _stole_ the _Arkenstone._ Even the greatest of intentions can’t justify that.” 

“Bilbo.” Kili felt his own tears quickly fill his eyes and start to fall down his cheeks. He couldn’t _stand_ not being able to hold Bilbo tightly, reassure him that none of the things he spoke was true, take him to all the others so they could shower him with the reassurances this amazing Hobbit needed, “You know that’s not true. That’s not true at all. Please, Bilbo.” 

“I...” Bilbo breathed, his chest constricting, “I deserve this.” 

And in a second, he was gone, and Kili was alone. 

“Bilbo?” Kili felt his voice grow small as he desperately glanced around the room, hoping to find some sort of sign that Bilbo was still with him, “Please...come back....”

 

 

 

Bilbo sighed, pressing himself into a corner and wrapping his arms tight around his knees. He didn’t know what to feel anymore, his emotions were taking ahold of him in ways they never did before. This was one of the hardest situations he’d ever had to deal with, but seeing as it was probably the _last_ situation he’d ever have to deal with, he had all the time in the world to think it over. 

Just when he was beginning to think that this was a good thing; looking after Kili like this and being able to stay with them, yet not _with_ them, he’d get struck with such a feeling of depression it was almost staggering. He wanted so desperately to feel as though this were a good thing, being a poltergeist. At least he wasn’t dead, at least he got to see the others, at least he was able to watch all the people he’d grown to love live their lives to the fullest.

But then...then he’d start to think that maybe this was a _punishment._

What of when they died? All the people he loved, he’d have to watch all of them die, one by one. Either from old age or war, he’d have to watch all of the company come to the end of their days, but unable to go with them. He’d be forever tormented with death and loss, but unable to pass on with his friends. 

He stole the Arkenstone, the heart of the mountain. It was another instance of where he didn’t regret his decision, he’d do it again if given the chance. If he hadn’t have taken it, then all of them would be dead, not just Bilbo. It was something that had to be done, but that didn’t mean Bilbo didn’t feel guilty about it every waking second. 

He couldn’t sleep. He’d tried for hours on end to sleep, but it was as if his mind was completely immune to the pull of unconsciousness. It was one of the worst parts of his condition, as he was forced to stay awake the long hours of the night, where the infectious darkness would seep into his mind and fill it with such dark thoughts. 

Bilbo desperately tried to think on the bright side, as he did with many other circumstances; but he found that with each night of darkness and thought, it grew harder and harder to be happy about his situation. 

But Kili’s smiles helped. Fili’s show of brotherly love. Every time Ori came to check on the two with a tray of tea, or when Bofur and Bombur would bring them food. It was these small shows of companionship that made it so much easier and harder, all at the same time. 

“You know.” 

Bilbo barely glanced up from where his nose and mouth were pressed against his forearms, raising his brows as he saw Kili peering down at him, hands on his hips. It was two days that Kili couldn’t see him, and it was some of the worst he’d ever seen Kili. Bilbo had tried to to make the other see him again, walked through him about ten times, but it was in the middle of the night that Kili was finally able to see him again. Woke for a drink of water and found Bilbo crying in the corner. 

“I’m not going to try and convince you that you don’t deserve this; that you’re probably the last person that deserves this, because we all know how well that went last time.” Kili murmured, sighing and letting his shoulders sag. He had been overjoyed that he could see Bilbo again, and had tried to remain alone from the company as often as possible. He would do anything to keep Bilbo from disappearing again. 

Bilbo gave a soft laugh, raising a brow as he watched the other slowly slide to the ground. Bilbo himself couldn’t feel the cold concrete under his bottom, but watching Kili try desperately to get comfortable against it with a slight look of agitation gracing his features.  

“But, I do think there is a reason beyond why you’re here.” Kili’s voice was more mature than Bilbo had ever heard it, but he was thankful. Once again, as if out of habit, he sat as close as possible. 

Softly and hesitantly, Bilbo indulged him, “And what would that be?” 

Kili looked as though he had the answers to the universe packed inside his skull, the gleam in his eye almost setting Bilbo on edge, “Do you have any regrets?” 

Oh, Bilbo had a whole list of them, but they seemed juvenile in the face of the current circumstances. He regretted not telling Hamfast to watch after Bag-End when he left on his adventure, because surely by now, the Sackville-Bagginses had probably looted and sold his whole house. He regretted not grabbing a handkerchief on that first day. He regretted not telling Nori that he was a great thief, but a better brother. Telling Dori that it was okay to give Ori and Nori a little leeway sometimes. He regretted not hugging Dwalin, because that dwarf just needed a _hug._

He regretted not telling Thorin that he loved him. 

“Nothing in particular.” 

“You suck at lying.” Kili let out a soft puff of air, slumping against the wall behind him, “And I know you are.” 

“Well.” Bilbo laughed, feeling his mood lift somewhat, pleased to be talking to Kili again, “I have small regrets, not anything worth being sent here for. I regret not convincing Ori that Dwalin reciprocated his feelings. I regret not talking more with Bifur. I even regret not giving Dwalin a hug.” 

“Those are very insignificant, in life-or-death terms,” Kili agreed with a nonchalant shrug, though didn’t seem too distraught by the news. His eyes still held that strong and confident edge, and Bilbo knew that this wasn’t anywhere near over. Kili was determined to find a reason behind Bilbo’s sudden appearance as an apparition, even if Bilbo himself didn’t particularly condone the attention. 

Bilbo, too, thought that his small regrets were nothing special. Everyone had small regrets, it was something that came with life. The small and insignificant regrets were something that made life progress forward, even if they were not particularly pleasant. 

“Hey!” Kili exclaimed rather suddenly, shooting forward and landing on his hands as he leveled Bilbo with wide, excited eyes. He looked particularly proud of himself, “Maybe that’s just it! The company! Your regrets may be small, but all together, they are large!”

“...I’m not quite following you.” 

Scooting around so that he was facing Bilbo, he looked as though he had just solved the answers to life itself, proud of himself beyond belief, “The entire company is your regret, the things you never said and did.”

It made sense in a roundabout way, but Bilbo still could not feel comfortable with calling it his regret, if he had one. This was not a story told to children before bedtime, there was most likely no regret and no way for him to change the unchangeable. He was here to stay, and no amount of reconciliation with the living could change that. 

“Who first?” 

 

 

 

“Do you feel any differently?” Kili asked with a tilt of his head, regarding Bilbo with wide and curious eyes as he searched for any change, “Do you feel any less stable or...alive?” 

Bilbo shook his head, looking down at his hands as he clenched and unclenched his hands, “no more than usual.” 

It had taken the better part of two days, but Kili had run around like there was a fire at his heels. He’d visited every member of their company, cleverly and effectively coming up with various stories and plots to somehow solve the regrets that Bilbo had relayed to him. He slyly told Ori that he’d overheard Dwalin musing over courting gifts; a leather-bound notebook or a hand-carved pen. He’d spent nearly an hour with Bifur, talking in Khuzdul about various things, though the conversation strayed toward Bilbo more than either of them would have admitted. 

Kili spent the following hour translating what was said with startling accuracy. 

They had figured out that Bilbo could manipulate Kili’s body for short periods of time by simply stepping directly into the boy’s form. It had been only used long enough for Bilbo to hold Dwalin in a short embrace. They both agreed to never use this again when Bilbo faded in and out when he stepped from Kili’s body, startlingly out of breath and dizzy. 

They’d visited them all, even the ones where Bilbo’s regret may have been a ‘thank you’ or a simple wish to say goodbye. 

The hardest had been Bofur, and Bilbo couldn’t think about it without growing increasingly saddened. 

Bilbo could still remember the comforting presence of that scrap of cloth. It was rather silly at the time, but he had kept it close to himself, finding that it gave him comfort in the moments when the road became rough. He could remember when Bofur had given it to him, a tossed scrap of shirt at the beginning of their journey, a jest at Bilbo’s expense. 

But it was soon revealed to Bilbo that Bofur meant the sentiment to be a sign of friendship, one that said hatted Dwarrow meant with pure honesty. So Bilbo had kept it close to himself, a sign of friendship in a sea of doubt. 

The cloth had been on him during the battle, a forgotten memory while his mind was on other things. It was always in his breast pocket of his vest, folded carefully. He could remember it now, the dark tan of the fabric worn and frayed with how many times he’d washed it out, but always warm and soft against his fingers. It had been with him during the battle, and it had been with him when he died. He’d lost his jacket in the confusion, his belt, his scarf, but his vest remained on him, along with the piece of fabric nestled softly within. 

_“I saw...” Kili fought for the words. He remembered the moment when Bofur had tossed the scrap of meaningless fabric to the Hobbit. He had thought it was funny, a rude joke at the Hobbit that was rather useless to them at the time._

_Oh, how things had changed._

_“I saw Bilbo.” Kili breathed, gently holding out the scrap of fabric in his hands, “They were moving him, after he had passed. They searched him for personal items, anything that could be buried with him. They found this on him.”_

_Bofur’s hand shook as he reached out to take the familiar scrap of fabric, his eyes never leaving it. His fingers were as gentle as if he were handling pure mithril, taking the scrap and bringing it in close to his chest. He spared a glance at Kili, his voice tight and shaky, his eyes already rimmed in red, “He...”_

_“He would have wanted you to have it.”_

Yes, Bofur had been the hardest. Bilbo had to turn away when the dwarf broke down, falling to his knees in uncontrollable sobs. Not even the comforting arms of his cousin and brother could drown them out. 

Bofur was the hardest, but that was also because they hadn’t been to Thorin yet. 

Bilbo didn’t know if he could face Thorin now, knowing....

“Maybe...was it something back at the Shire?” Kili asked with a low voice, hoping in the back of his mind that his question would be answered with a negative, “Any family or friends that you need to say goodbye to?” 

“None any more important than the company.” Bilbo answered with a shrug, “You all have become more important to me than anyone back at the Shire.” 

“Does...” Kili found it hard to find the correct words to say for a while, the words Bilbo said cutting him right to the core with startling accuracy, “Does that mean...would you have stayed... with us?” 

Bilbo didn’t even have to think about it for a second, “Of course, if it was offered. I would love to call Erebor my home, granted that I could go to the Shire and gather my things.” 

Kili didn’t talk for a long while after that, instead choosing to sit in the quiet, with his hands on his knees. Rather than sad, Kili looked contemplative, his brows knit in thought as his mind worked. 

“You have another regret.” He said finally, and Bilbo knew that the conversations of homes and family would not stay quiet for long, but he was willing to let that conversation die for now. When he glanced up, Kili was looking at him with piercing brown eyes, “You have a regret, much bigger than those that we’ve already addressed. I can see it in your eyes whenever we talk of such things. You are holding something back from me, and I do not know why.”

“There is nothing.” Bilbo lied easily, but the tickling feeling in the back of his mind grew. Maybe he _should_ tell Kili of his love for Thorin; there was nothing really they could do about it now, and it would be nice to get it off his chest. But if he told Kili, then Kili would undoubtedly find a way to tell the oldest Durin, and that would cause more trouble. 

Kili’s face twisted, “I know you are lying. What is it that is so unthinkable that you cannot even speak of it?” 

Bilbo didn’t even get time to think of an answer before the door to Kili’s room was hesitantly opened, and Kili’s eyes still searched for Bilbo even though he was effectively invisible now that there was another presence. 

“Kili...?” Fili peeked in slowly, his brows drawn together slightly as he glanced around the room in confusion, before they finally landed on Kili, “Were you....talking to someone?” 

Bilbo stood to his feet as the brothers began their conversation, stretching his back but hearing no bones pop. Keeping one ear on the conversation, he paced the room, pondering the pros and cons of telling Kili about his love for Thorin. It would be a huge weight of his chest, and it would be great to have it out in the open instead of welling inside his chest, but he couldn’t put all that on Kili’s shoulders. 

Stopping at the edge of the bed and heaving a sigh, Bilbo came to the conclusion that he was in no mind to be making such big decisions. The conversation was over and done with, for now, and he would decide when the time came. He was much to frazzled. 

With a quick glance up at the brothers, he saw that they were in the middle of a rather intimate conversation, their heads dipped low and smiles adorning their faces. He could barely hear them, but he thought that it was probably for the better. As much as he felt out of place when the two were talking, it warmed his heart to see them so close. 

Moving to stand by the door, Bilbo paused and watched them with an affectionate smile. 

“Everyone told me what you’ve been doing.” Fili tilted his head to the side and smiled softly, “I think it’s been good; therapeutic.”

It didn’t take Kili long to figure out what his brother was talking about, and his face immediately flushed brightly at the thought. He hadn’t given a second thought to what others thought he’d be doing, but it didn’t seem too bad, all things considered. Shrugging, he offered a small smile, “well, I keep ... dreaming, of him. Bilbo. We never talk about him, during our dinners or suppers. I think it’s time we remember him for what he was.” 

“That’s good.” Fili sighed, reaching up and once again placing a comforting hand on the joint of Kili’s neck and shoulder, “It’s so... good. You’re right. We need to remember him, not drown him out.” 

Kili’s eyes searched the room for just a moment, knowing that Bilbo was there somewhere, “Yes. He does not need to be drowned out.” 

Heaving a breath, Fili let his hand drop and his brows raise in question, “So, the reason I came down here was to ask you about dinner. Which would you prefer: pork or beef? Bombur is particularly excited about either, so despite our choices, we may be getting both.” 

“They both sound splendid, so long as they’re served with ale.” Kili laughed, turning around and going to gather his jacket, so that he would look slightly more presentable for the company. He had taken to running around in his sleep clothes and an old pair of pants, but Thorin was a stickler for formality during dinner. 

Fili laughed at his brother, raising a brow incredulously, “We’re Dwarrow, Kili, of course ale will be served.” 

Bilbo shook his head with an amused smile, walking around them and kicking at the clothes and things Kili had piled around the room, even though his foot went right through them. He had been trying to tell Kili that he needed to straighten up, that this was no way to keep ones room, but Kili wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded from his task of finding Bilbo’s regret from his life. 

Looking down at his feet, Bilbo wished that he could at least pick up for Kili. In the dead hours of the night, it would be nice to have something to do. He’d been trying to find a way to fall asleep for the past couple of nights, but be had no luck whatsoever, just more time to dwell on his thoughts. 

Which was exactly what he was doing at this moment, which made him completely miss the way Fili backed up slightly, his foot catching on a loose shirt on the ground. 

He barely felt a brush of air as Fili stumbled backwards, right through him. 

_“Kili. Dinner. Kili. Go see the company.”_

He could taste sunshine and a hint of copper on his tongue, the soft brush of long hair against his cheek, the string of happiness that Fili felt when he was with Kili. 

When he looked up, all he could see were Kili’s wide eyes, directed right at him, “Oh, no...” 

“...B-Bilbo?”

“Fili, I can explain.” Kili was the first one to move forward, his hands outstretched as he reached for his brother. 

Bilbo didn’t know what he was expecting as a reaction if anyone ever saw him. Kili’s had been more sedate, saddened and withdrawn as he was thrown back into the memory of Bilbo. But now that Fili could obviously see him, he couldn’t help but wonder what the elder brother would take of his rather impossible situation. 

He certainly wasn’t expecting this. 

Fili was quick with throwing an arm in front of Kili and shoving him behind himself, stepping forward with strong steps. His hand shot to the sword at his side, pulling it in a swift movement and pointing it at Bilbo’s chest. 

“Apparition, I know not what you seek to gain, but if you do not desist from this haunting I will have to use force.” Fili’s voice was full of pure malice and anger, his usually light and airy blue eyes hard as steel. When Bilbo failed to answer or even make a sound, Fili clenched his teeth, “Be gone!” 

“Fili, you must understand-!” Bilbo hesitantly took a step forward, his hands raised in a defensive movement as he wearily eyed the elder brother. 

Roaring forward, Fili carefully kept his protesting brother behind himself, keeping a blind eye to Kili’s yells and pleads, “Quiet, slime! You are an evil apparition of something very dark, and you will _not_ take my brother with you!”

Bilbo’s voice caught in his throat as Fili approached, the words sinking in as his eyes darted from Fili to Kili and back. He, too, had had many thoughts over what he was. He didn’t _feel_ evil, but what was he when former friends were threatening him at knifepoint? 

“Please...” Bilbo took one more hesitant step forward, hands still raised as he desperately tried to convey _something_ to Fili, to make the brother realize that he _was_ the Bilbo they knew, “It’s _me..._ ”

“Cease your lies!” Fili cried, lunging forward and bringing his sword down in a great arch, slicing through the point of Bilbo’s shoulder and bringing his weapon down to the arch of his hip. It felt as though he were cutting through nothing, but the evidence was clear as day, a thick line cutting through Bilbo’s torso. 

It felt as though a fire were burning through him and his skin was too tight for his body. He could _feel_ the cut through his chest, and unconsciously his hands rose to press against it, even though no blood showed itself. 

“I...” Bilbo gasped, eyes flickering as he took in the two, hands quivering, “I...I’m sorry.” 

Kili cried out as Bilbo flickered and disappeared, managing to shove past his brother and stop in front of the space where his ghostly friend had been. He had seen the look in Bilbo’s eyes... Bilbo had _felt_ Fili’s blade as it through his body, that stark look of anguish. 

But Kili was uncertain of what had hurt Bilbo more, Fili’s blade or Fili’s words. 

“What have you done?” Kili cried, whipping around to push at his brother when Fili attempted to come closer, “It was _Bilbo!”_

Fili scoffed, though it was half-hearted. He’d seen the pain glittering in those green eyes, so familiar and heart-breaking, “It was an _apparition,_ Kili! It was probably here to drag you back to the underworld, of which you barely escaped weeks ago!” 

“That was why he was _here,_ Fi!” Kili exclaimed, stepping back a step every time his brother tried to come near, his breath growing short and his eyes growing wet, “He gave his life to save mine, so the Valar had brought him back! We know not why they chose to do such a thing, but that was _our burglar,_ Fili!” 

“Why would the Valar bring him back from the afterlife? No such tale has been told before, Kili, why would it start with Bilbo?” Fili’s voice wavered for just a moment, his eyes searching Kili’s for a long moment before flickering to where Bilbo had been standing not moments before, “Why would they do that to him? Who would condemn him to such a fate, wandering in the afterlife, never to find absolution?” 

“But it was exactly that which brought him back, Fili!” Kili huffed, his eyes wide as he reached out to grasp Fili’s shoulder, trying to drive some sense into the mind of his brother, praying that the other wouldn’t find him insane, “He was to find absolution, the very reason that would make his life worthwhile!”

The elder hesitated, his lips twitching downward as he shifted his hand on his sword. He did not know what to believe, there were so many thoughts running through his head that his mind was in turmoil. 

“It cannot be...” Fili murmured, shaking his head and letting his shoulders droop as he caught Kili’s eyes again, “..Kili...lets just get something to eat. Let’s...”

“Fili...” Kili had never had Fili not believe him before. They were connected at the hip from birth, and they had always confided in each other and trusted one another with their lives. But now, Kili could see the disbelief in Fili’s eyes. 

This had never happened before. 

 

 

 

He dreamt, after he disappeared from Kili’s room. 

He hadn’t had a dream in months, for he hadn’t had the luxury of sleep. 

Encased in Thorin’s arms, he was held tightly in their warmth as Thorin’s deep voice swept over him like a river of comfort and familiarity. He could even feel the gentle tickle of Thorin’s hair over his cheek and shoulder. 

He could feel the warm pressure of Thorin’s body against his own, as close as possible. Their fingers were threaded together, Thorin’s large fingers pressing against Bilbo’s with the care  of a loved one. Nothing around them mattered, just their shared breath and the press of their cheeks together as they nuzzled idly. 

He never wanted this dream to end. He could almost pretend that this wasn’t a dream, that he wasn’t dead, and that he and Thorin could spend the rest of eternity in each other’s warm embrace. That didn’t sound so horrible. 

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s deep voice rumbled down his spine, making him smile and nuzzle closer. That voice was always a source of pleasure for him, when it spoke in that low and sultry tone. A tone meant just for him. 

“Bilbo, there is something I must tell you.” 

Bilbo nodded slightly, his nose brushing against Thorin’s, their lips barely caressing. 

“I...”

Just as suddenly as the pleasant dream had come, it was gone. His hands, of which had previously been warm against Thorin’s, were cold as the figure beneath him disappeared. Thorin’s warm breath had been replaced with cold and icy disparity, and he found himself shaking at the sudden departure. Opening his eyes, he saw himself surrounded by a deep darkness, his breath making puffs of air in front of his lips. 

“Thorin.” 

He searched around, the darkness enclosing around him like a box. His breath was growing short, his eyes growing heavy as he felt his limbs become shackled to the ground. The darkness of death was growing on him again, and he could feel no remnant of Thorin’s warmth on him. 

“Thorin!” 

A large gasping breath is what broke the silence that morning as Thorin bolt from his sheets, his breath coming in heaving pants as he sat shaking in his bed. 

The dream had been so real, the warmth he could still feel on his fingertips, and his lips still tingled from the brush of Bilbo’s against his. It wasn’t the first time he had dreams of his burglar, but it was the first time it had been so real. So raw. So powerful. His heart felt like a stone within his chest, even more so than before. 

Ever since Bilbo’s death, he couldn’t bring himself to smile. His body was constantly cold and it felt as though his lungs were full of ice. He had heard stories of Dwarrow losing their One, but he had never thought it would happen to himself. He had known that Bilbo was his One, but the knowledge of that fact had come at high a cost. Their affections had grown over their trip to Erebor, but he had been so blinded by the gold that his love for the Hobbit had been clouded. 

His vision had cleared when he saw his nephew take his last breath, but his heart felt as though a dagger had struck it when he laid his eyes upon Bilbo. Nothing could have prepared him for the pure anguish that wrapped around him when he saw those pale and lifeless eyes. 

Those were the dreams he usually had of Bilbo, not something so warm and loving. 

He wondered if he, too, would fade from this world, like the dwarrow from the stories he’d read. 

Food no longer held no flavor for him, which was the reason he wasn’t too keen on rushing out for breakfast. He allowed himself to sit in bed a moment longer and close his eyes, desperately trying to recall the feel of Bilbo’s skin on his own. It had been merely a dream, but he could still smell the warm honey scent of Bilbo’s hair, feel the warmth of Bilbo held in his arms, so tight. 

And when that warmth left him, he was so cold and dreadfully alone. 

He knew he was drawing at strings to not have to face anyone at the moment, but he could use last nights dinner as a excuse to not go to breakfast as well. It had been...strenuous to say the least. Kili refused to eat a bite, instead choosing to stare down at his dinner with a lost and mournful look on his face. In fear that he had reverted back to his mournful state, many of the company had questioned him, but with no reply. Even stranger yet was the fact that Fili sat on the opposite side of the table, his mood withdrawn, a tight frown on his face. While he didn’t utter a word, his eyes were either staring so intently at Kili that he didn’t even blink, or shifting across his plate like he was lost. 

They were falling apart, all of them. The line of Durin was slowly crumbling at the base and there was nothing that Thorin could do about it. They were a mess, and he truly didn’t know if they could pull themselves out of this one. When Erebor had been taken by Smaug, he still had his sister, despite the loss of his father and brother. He had been able to keep his people at the front of his mind, taking them to the Blue Mountains and making a new home. 

But now, it was as if his soul was being slowly shorn away. The loss of your One wasn’t something Dwarrow recovered from. It was a slow winding disease that left a shell of a man where a strong Dwarf would have stood, before eventually they would die of a broken heart. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to his fate, especially considering he had a whole race to lead, but he had to admit in some ways, fading had it’s benefits. He could barely breathe when he thought about never seeing Bilbo again. 

He was going to fade and die just like the poor dwarrow in the stories his mother used to read him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for keeping up with me thus far. This chapter is a bit shorter, but I figure you guys deserve an update after so long. I should have mentioned that I'm not the quickest updater, haha. But at least it's here, and I AM working on it.


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